Guessing Game
by RicardianScholar Clark-Weasley
Summary: With John away, it's up to Lestrade to entertain Sherlock. Sherlock decides to waste some time by trying to learn Lestrade's name...it doesn't end well.


**Author's Note: **I don't know about you but I'm sensing this is the new running gag for Sherlock.

Lestrade regretted agreeing to 'distract' Sherlock while John was on his honeymoon. Sure, it was for the good of London which probably would have been blown up by one of Sherlock's insane experiments, but there was a reason why only John could live with Sherlock and no other sane person could.

It was bad enough on the first day he had to explain in excruciating detail why exactly Sherlock couldn't just walk into a hospital and do live surgery, no matter how much experience he got from dead organs, but the next three seemed to have melted into chaos and he was almost certain that he lost a day due to some chemical experiments Sherlock may or may not have performed on him.

"I decided to play a game," Sherlock announced on day six.

"Oh?" Lestrade tried to sound interested. To be honest he was sort of too busy praying, _please don't let it be Cluedo again, please, please, please_, to be able to pay any sort of attention to Sherlock. "What sort of game?"

"A guessing game!"

"What sort of guessing game?" Lestrade asked suspiciously.

They hadn't played a guessing game in over eight years back when he was a complete idiot and played the 'Where are the Drugs?' game with Sherlock, who was still very much using. God he was a moron sometimes.

"Just a game," Sherlock said sweetly. Yes definitely time to be suspicious. "I will guess your name."

"How can you _still_ not know my name?!"

"I keep deleting it!" Sherlock protested….well not really, it was just incredibly insulting. "But if you let me work it out, I could probably remember it this time."

Lestrade very much doubt it but what did he have to lose? "Fine," he sighed. He sank down in the comfy armchair that was usually used by John Watson and helped himself to the cup of tea that Mrs Hudson obviously left behind for him.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were-"

Sherlock's belated warning was far too late as Lestrade found himself choking on a goldfish before he finally spat it back out into the tea cup. "Why the hell were you keeping a dead fish in a cup of tea?!" he yelled furiously.

"It's dead?" Sherlock cried out childishly. "Damn! That ruins my hypothesis."

"Whatever," Lestrade wiped his mouth disgustedly, "is there any mouthwash?"

"Bathroom," Sherlock replied. Lestrade leaped out of the armchair and marched hastily to the bathroom. "Grahame?" Sherlock yelled after him.

"You know that's not my name," Lestrade shouted back. He then proceeded to gargle what was probably the entirety of the mouthwash bottle before he came back to a lounging Sherlock.

"George?" Sherlock offered lazily.

"No."

"Gavin?"

"Definitely not."

"Gordon?"

"Do I looked like a swearing, screaming, and blonde chief?"

"What?" Sherlock blinked.

"Never mind," Lestrade sighed. John did warn him that Sherlock was useless with popular culture references.

"Oh," Sherlock said unbothered as he jumped to his next guess. "Geoffrey?"

"No."

"Geoff, then?"

"That's the same name Sherlock!"

"No it isn't."

"Err, yes it is."

"Is not!"

"I'm not arguing with you Sherlock," Lestrade looked for a recent newspaper to read and pass the time. "I have better things to do."

"No you don't." Lestrade's eye twitched a little at that and it was probably this that encouraged Sherlock to immediately jump to his next guess before Lestrade could snap at him. "Gio?"

"What?" Lestrade laughed. "Do I look like some Latino pool boy?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Simple no would suffice," he said somewhat tartly. Lestrade just laughed some more at the idea of being called Gio of all things. "Gene?" Sherlock offered. And for reasons unknown to the poor Consulting Detective this only made Lestrade laugh to a hysterical level. For a moment Sherlock had thought the Detective Inspector was having an epileptic fit. When he realised it was some sort of popular culture joke about fast cars, police brutality, and northern accents, he huffed and sulked before Lestrade finally calms down. "Gaston?" Sherlock guessed.

Lestrade snorted. "Do I look like a Disney villain?"

"What the heck is a Disney?"

Lestrade just giggled at that and Sherlock huffed childishly. That's it! When John comes home he is going to sit with Sherlock and go through all of these nonsensical things. Perhaps even Mary will watch through this…Disney…

"Gary?" he guessed desperate to change the subject.

"No."

"Gaza?"

"_God, no_!"

"Gerald?"

Lestrade's wrinkled nose of disgust was answer enough.

"Gabriel?"

"Do I look like an angel to you?"

"More than I do," Sherlock shrugged, "Gareth?"

"No."

"Giles?"

"I am not a vampire slaying-"

"_No more popular culture references_!" Sherlock all but shrieked. Lestrade gaped at him stunned as Sherlock heaved loudly in an attempt to calm himself, wordlessly the older, and much more responsible police officer, handed the hyperventilating brat of a Consulting Detective a cigarette. It was an act that was so going to bite him back later but after a few long drags of the delicious nicotine filled paper roll, Sherlock calmed down enough to pipe up with another guess. "Gilbert?"

"No."

"Guinevere?"

"_Do I look like a girl to you?!"_

"You'd be surprised how many men have female names because their parents had been hoping for a daughter," Sherlock explained patiently, "it's nothing to be embarrassed about, for months I had thought John's middle name was Helen or Heather, since it was obvious that Harriet was the much more loved child as she can easily get away with-"

"Yeah, I don't really want to know John's childhood problems," Lestrade interrupted hastily. That was something John could tell him another time out of his own free will. It was not something for Sherlock to blurt out to him. "My name is definitely a bloke's name."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock pressed. "It isn't Gemma, or Geraldine, or Georgina, or-"

"Definitely. A. Bloke's. Name." Lestrade hissed between gritted teeth.

"All right then," Sherlock relented. "Glenn?"

"No."

"Gideon?"

"No."

"Gwaine?"

"No."

"Gaius?"

"No."

"Galahad?"

"No. it's nothing Arthurian, Sherlock," Lestrade sighed.

"How refreshing," Sherlock said dryly, "Grayson? After your grey hair."

"I wasn't born with grey hair, Sherlock!" Lestrade snapped indignantly.

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_!" Lestrade snarled. "And my name isn't Grayson!"

"Guy?"

"No."

"Ganymede?"

"_God no_! Never in a million years!" Lestrade almost felt like laughing again. Only more out of exhaustion and insanity rather than actual amusement. "Who on earth would be so cruel to name a child Ganymede?"

"It's my uncle's name," Sherlock said stiffly.

"Oh God, I'm sorry-"

"Never mind," Sherlock rudely interrupted Lestrade's heartfelt apology. "It definitely begins with a G, doesn't it?"

Well at least he got something right. "Yes," Lestrade reassured him.

"Gregor?" Sherlock guessed.

"Close…ish."

"_Gregory?_!"

You could almost hear the desperation in Sherlock's voice at this point but that was nothing, nothing, compared to the elation in Lestrade's voice.

"_Yes!_ YES! That's my name! _That's my name_! Greg Lestrade!"

"Oh," Sherlock said a little disappointed, he had hoped it would be something more interesting, "why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"I…You…" Lestrade's glee faded into his usual frustration.

"Yes?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I give up," Lestrade finished helplessly.

"Whatever Ganymede."

"_**MY NAME IS GREGORY**_!"

Mrs Hudson was very shocked to find a polite, well mannered, police officer, wrestle her dear Sherlock to the ground but to be honest she really couldn't blame him.

She would do the same if she found a goldfish in her good china!


End file.
